


Memento

by 94BottlesOfSnapple



Category: The Arcana (Visual Novel)
Genre: Angst, F/M, Flashbacks, Magic, Memory Loss, Pre-Game(s), Psychometry
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-17
Updated: 2017-10-17
Packaged: 2019-01-18 19:44:48
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,597
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12394905
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/94BottlesOfSnapple/pseuds/94BottlesOfSnapple
Summary: Asra tries one last time to restore Syneas' memories, with the help of an old gift.Needless to say, it goes tragically wrong.





	Memento

**Author's Note:**

> For those of you that don't follow me on Tumblr, this fic is hinged on Syneas' aptitude for psychometry (the ability to glean information about an object and its past by touching it). In her case, the power is usually toned down to an ability to sense emotions previously associated with the object, although she does have the potential for more.

Asra turns the little marble over and over in his hand, watching the way light twists and shines through it in the afternoon sun coming through the window. It’s turquoise in color – of course it is. That’s why he had gotten it for her in the first place. Turquoise. Her color.

In the background, Syneas is bustling around the shop – adjusting the wares, smoothing the rugs. His attention is always half on her. How could it not be? Especially now. He’s still not used to the way she defers to him, calls him Master Asra. Not at all like how they had been before, no…

But she’s adrift. Lost. And like her memories, her magic is subdued, weakened, muted. A defense mechanism, he thinks, and it’s probably for the best. She doesn’t have enough knowledge about her own magic now to control its full force. Asra sighs softly, rubbing his thumb across the marble and sinking into a memory.

 

_“But why_ do _you tone down your powers so much?” he asked idly, settling back into the pile of cushions in the back room. “You could make a bigger impact with full psychometry.”_

_Syneas just rolled her eyes and nudged his foot out of the way as she swept by with an armful of candles._

_“Can you imagine reacting like that to everything I touch? Full-on… Glowing eyes, infinite knowledge? What a nightmare.”_

_Asra blinked, sitting up._

_“Is that how it_ works _for you…?” he asked, a frown across his face._

_Faust, sensing his distress, slithered up to curl around his shoulders. Meanwhile, Syneas spread her candles across the counter._

_“Ah, well…” she murmured, folding her arms behind her head and glancing at him from the corner of her eyes with a bitter little smile. “It’s not the right way to do it, probably. But I had to learn to block it out however I could, or it would have killed me.”_

_“Syneas—”_

_She cut him off immediately._

_“What, are you going to shower me with pity, Asra? I’d like to see that, haha.”_

_Her smile was bright, dappled in rainbows from the crystals hanging in the window. But he could see through it. He could always see through it._

_“_ Syneas _.”_

_She brushed her fingers over the faceted orb on her longest necklace._

_“Really, Asra. You worry too much. See? You’re making Faust sad.”_

_She nodded her head at him, and as if on command Faust nuzzled her face up to Asra’s cheek._

Sad _, the little snake agreed._

_“You really are something,” Asra found himself saying to Syneas as he stroked Faust’s head. “You’ve got us both wrapped around your finger.”_

_“I’d better,” came the immediate, teasing reply. “After all the trouble you’ve given me.”_

_And then she strode over and settled down next to them in the pillows, dropping a kiss on Asra’s lips. He swept her into his arms, Faust tangling gleefully around them both._

_“How about we rest?” Asra murmured against Syneas’ mouth. “Taking breaks is important.”_

_“_ You _haven’t_ done _any work,” she retorted, but there was no heat to it._

Nap! _chirped Faust._

_“Mm. Nap,” Asra agreed._

_He lay back on the pillows, taking Syneas with him. She laughed, then – a real laugh, one that lit up the entire shop._

_“All right. Nap time it is.”_

“Master Asra?”

He blinks, looking up to find Syneas studying him with confusion in her eyes.

“… Yes, Syneas?”

“You… Um. You just looked…” she sighs, scrubbing a hand through her hair – a familiar gesture that sends a twinge into Asra’s heart. “Troubled? I guess?”

“Oh?”

He tilts his head curiously, as though he has no idea what she’s talking about. Syneas huffs. She doesn’t believe him, of course, but that isn’t what the act is for. Thankfully, she has learned better than to try and pry answers out of him when he doesn’t want to speak.

Doesn’t mean she won’t complain.

“You never tell me anything, Master.”

He smiles mysteriously.

“Don’t I?”

“No,” she shoots back without hesitation. “You don’t.”

He shrugs.

“I was just… Thinking.”

The answer doesn’t satisfy her. Well, it wouldn’t. But the flash of hurt across Syneas’ features is unexpected, chastening. The guilt of it makes Asra avert his eyes. It isn’t that he means to push her away. But it’s so difficult to be careful with her, to tread cautiously when he wants nothing more than to pull her into his arms and tell her everything.

They’ve retained a closeness, an intimacy, if not exactly the kind they had before. Their world is colored in easy, unexamined platonic touches. Even if her mind doesn’t, Syneas’ fingers remember the feeling of carding through his hair, the feeling of their hands entwined. She trusts him, _wants_ to be close to him, and that’s how he knows she’s in there somewhere, all of her.

“I was remembering,” Asra amends, offering an olive branch in the form of a smile that doesn’t quite reach true happiness. “Someone important to me.”

Syneas’ dark eyes widen.

“Y-you, I…” she stammers. “… I’m sorry, Master. I didn’t mean to pry.”

As if it’s something she has no place knowing. Dramatic irony. The thought pulls a chuckle from Asra, quiet and a little sad.

“No,” he tells Syneas. “It’s fine. I know you get curious.”

“Is that… Something of theirs…?”

She points a finger at the marble in his hand, careful not to touch it. Asra looks back down at the little glass orb. He can’t bring himself to answer, just gives a noncommittal hum, thinking of the woman she’d been when he’d given it to her.

 

_“For you,” Asra offered, tilting his head in that way he knew she found cute._

_He was careful to hold out the little turquoise-colored marble so it caught the light. The way things that shone and glittered dazzled her never ceased to fill him with warmth. He could never pass it up. The shop had become a museum of such gifts – windowsills full, shelves cluttered, enough to send light of all colors scattering in every direction._

_But Syneas did not trace the present with awe or joy in her eyes. In fact, the expression was a bit cold. Asra’s chest twinged painfully, and for several moments nothing was said._

_“I hate that color,” Syneas told him at last, rolling her eyes in a belated way that told him she was trying to feign aloofness._

_“How could you?” he asked with an uneasy laugh. “Syneas, it’s_ your _color.”_

_The marble glinted between them, and they both stared down at it. Syneas sighed, ruffed a hand through her hair. Then she glanced to the side, pressing her mouth into the defensive frown that always heralded more of what she called ‘issues’._

_“I don’t like it_ because _it’s ‘my color’,” explained Syneas. “I don’t know. I just never have. It’s ugly.”_

_“You can’t possibly hate it that much.”_

_“You’re one to talk, your magic is…” Syneas sighed, lifting a hand and rubbing her thumb and fingers together before fanning them out. “You know. Light. Whirly. Pretty.”_

_“Your magic is_ beautiful _, Syneas. Just like you.”_

_She laughed like she was making fun of him, but there was a shine in her eyes that spoke of unshed tears._

_“You’re so… Cheesy.”_

_He just smiled and offered her the marble again. She accepted it. And the look of awe that washed over her face was enough to steal the breath from his lungs._

_“That… Is that how you really feel,” she asked at last, rolling the marble between her fingers._

_“What does your magic tell you?” replied Asra, turning the question back on her._

_“You know, you could give me a straight answer once in a while.”_

_Asra blinked._

_“No I couldn’t.”_

_It took a few seconds to sink in, but then Syneas threw her empty hand in the air._

_“I can’t even be mad!” she exclaimed, sounding mad anyway. “That was a_ great _pun!”_

_They bantered and argued a few minutes more, but Asra’s attention stayed on Syneas’ left hand, which still clutched the marble tightly._

 

This time, it has to work. He’s tried other ways, tried telling her outright or subtly or in a letter. The result is the same every time. The sudden, dozy blankness, a dead faint, no way to wake her but to go back and erase erase erase.

But this… This _is_ her. Her power, her specialty. Her color. It has to work.

It has to work.

He rolls the marble over again, letting the sunlight flash across it – once, twice. Flash, flash-flash.

“… Master?”

Asra almost flinches at the title. But he schools himself quickly, smiles instead.

“Can you read this for me?” he asks her, holding out the marble.

She seems hesitant.

“Are you sure you want me to…? If it’s that personal, I—”

“Think of it as practice,” Asra replies, looking up at her through his bangs.

“All right…”

She holds out her hand, and he drops the marble into it.

He can feel the wash of magic as it touches her skin – bright, cold, like a mountain river, like memory. It’s working. Asra’s breath catches in his chest.

For a second, just the briefest flicker, she’s looking at him again. Really looking, all of her, the way it’s supposed to be. Looking at him like she’s Syneas and he’s Asra, instead of an apprentice looking at their teacher. When their eyes lock it’s as though a bolt of lightning zips through his veins.

“Asr-?”

And then the telltale turquoise of her magic flashes into her eyes and they go blank and glowing. Brighter, and brighter still. They don’t stop. In just seconds, there’s enough magical energy battling inside Syneas to create an artificial wind, and it whips around her like a tornado.

“No,” Asra hears himself cry, already lunging for her. “ _No!_ ”

He’s blasted back into the counter, cracking the glass. The crunch of the impact is muffled by the pounding in his ears and the warm, wet sensation of blood sliding down his neck. Asra can’t even quantify the mass of feelings building inside him. Anger, guilt, fear, every negative emotion he’s ever felt in his life, all coming to the fore to crush him. In the end, the anger wins out. The indignation.

It was her magic! It was her gift! It was supposed to work, not _hurt_ her, not make things _worse_!

He’s flung an arm out before he can even make it to his feet, swirls of white pressing in on chaotic turquoise, battling it back. Even as he falters trying to stand, his magic does not. It presses forward, encloses, forces down. A stray tendril of her magic whips out of his containment, lashes across his face like a flame. But Asra just bares his teeth, narrows his eyes, and keeps pushing forward with everything he has. One step after another.

And then Syneas is in his reach, wrapped in his magic, the glow from her eyes so potent that he can’t even make out anything behind it. Asra lifts a hand, stretches it towards her extended arm. With a sharp flick of the wrist, he knocks the marble from her palm and it clatters to the floor.

Immediately, Syneas goes limp and all Asra’s anger is washed away by fear. He has to leap forward to catch her before she hits the ground, falling painfully to his knees. But the physical pain is nothing. Irrelevant.

“Not again,” he begs her. “Please not again. Syneas. You have to— Syneas. I’m sorry, I just wanted… I… You have to wake up. You, I can’t…”

But there is no response.

As always. Just the same. She won’t wake. He brushes her hair from her eyes, continues to murmur apologies, hopes beyond hope that this time will be different. That she’ll awaken and everything will be all right. But she doesn’t.

Resigned, he hefts her small form into his arms and carries her to the back room. Carefully as he can, Asra lays her on the pile of pillows there, determined to fix her immediately.

Except it doesn’t work.

Walling away her memories, returning her to consciousness, it’s never been an easy thing. But with so much unfortunate experience, he’s become adept at it. Knows exactly what to do. This time, though… This time his efforts do not bear fruit.

Syneas lies there, still and pale and silent, and icy fear floods Asra’s chest.

He’s gone too far. He can’t fix her anymore. He’s destroyed her.

He stumbles out of the back room, trembling.

Then, hands buried in his hair, Asra paces the shop. He’s numb, and cold, and the whole world is whirling around him. She’s gone. Gone. She’s gone. It doesn’t compute, it doesn’t fit, and the words spill from his mouth like a mantra; she’s gone, she’s gone, she’s gone.

And then as he turns away from the front door to pace towards the back room again, his foot connects with something. The object rolls across the floor, and his eyes track it on instinct.

 The marble.

He reaches down, slowly, picks it up between his thumb and index finger. There is no magic emanating from it. It feels quiet and innocuous. Harmless. But it isn’t. Asra’s grip tightens. Harder, harder. He realizes he’s breathing heavily, waves of white magic are pouring off him like steam.

Asra snarls, presses just a little harder.

The marble shatters into dust.

But it’s not enough. No. More than that, it’s not the only thing that can hurt her. He gathers them up, feverishly, every keepsake, everything they’ve ever gifted one another. Kneels next to the pile on the stone floor, looks at the evidence of all their time together.

Then, one by one, he incinerates them, smashes them, tears them apart, loosing his magic on them feverishly as if it will somehow bring her back.

“No, no, no, _no_ —”

When there’s nothing else left he lifts his own fist to dash it against the stone floor.

And then there’s a warning squeeze around his wrist.

“Faust…”

She’s tangled herself around his forearm, has somehow slithered up there without him even realizing. Asra lowers his arm, bringing his familiar to eye level.

_No more_ , she insists quietly, tilting her head.

A weak, bitter laugh falls from his mouth.

“No more,” agrees Asra. “Ah… It really does hurt. Faust, what am I supposed to do…?”

He laughs again, feels tears start to slip down his cheeks.

_Help_ , Faust tells him, an instruction and an offer.

She’s right, of course. Even if it feels hopeless, even if it takes forever. Asra knows what he has to do. No matter what it takes. He’ll find a way. There’s no other choice. He brushes the tears from his face, nods, stands up, and gets back to work.

 

It takes him three days and every ounce of magic he can marshal to wake Syneas up again.

 

But it doesn’t even matter, not really, because she’s not gone. And that’s worth everything he can give. Worth his time and his energy and his magic. Worth her treating him as a teacher instead of a lover. Worth biting his tongue when he wants to speak instead. Worth every single one of their mementos. Worth the tenuous, terrible hold he has on their relationship – the knowledge that all the evidence is gone, that he alone carries those memories of them now, that if he forgets anything it will be lost forever.

Any price, no matter how painful, is one he can pay – as long as she’s still with him.


End file.
